


Moonless Summer Night

by logorrhea



Category: Witch Hunter (manhwa) | 위치헌터
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Requited Love, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:46:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5162696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logorrhea/pseuds/logorrhea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he closes his eyes, maybe the ghosts on her fingertips will go away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonless Summer Night

He wakes a with a start in the middle of night as the doorknob to his room turns. By force of habit, his mouth forms the words for the name - 'Halloween' - except he's not there; he hasn't been there for a while. No matter, Ryuhwan reassures himself, grabbing his gun from the bedside desk; fully-loaded as usual. As soon as the intruder makes their way through the door, Ryuhwan has the gun pointed - ready to fire - and the lights flick on with a snap.

Middle of the night; random intruder - relatively-safe inn. He does not know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this - wasn't her.

His muscles freeze - contort, really - but he quickly (if not immediately, instinctively) drops both his hand and the gun.

"Master," he whispers - almost refusing to believe, but there she is: clothed in white, soaked to the bone, a wane and weak smile upon her lips, and still-still-still _alive_. "Master," he repeats, before scrambling out of his bed - forgetting entirely about the gun. "I -" he tries to start, but she interrupts.

"Ryuhwan," she murmurs - soft, lilting, as he's always remembered her voice to sound. "I apologize for coming at such an hour," she says, lowering her head.

"It's alright," he says - the first time he's said something so loose and casual of a phrase in _years_. "I haven't seen you since..." his voice trails off, because bad memories are resurfacing - and he should be happy, and only happy, that she's here and in front of him and _alive_ , but all he can think about - really - is that one night - not like this one - where she bid him farewell (for what he thought was forever), with tears in her eyes and - and - and -

"Ryuhwan," she repeats, "I'm sorry I didn't come to see you earlier. I... I wasn't certain you would want to see me again, after..."

 _After I abandoned you in such a manner_ , the silence fills in for him.

"I thought you were dead," he says in response. He does not say: 'I screamed and twisted and writhed and _cried_ for nights and nights on end, thinking of what I could have done - thinking of what I should have said.'

"Life is rarely what you first make it out to be," she replies - with another wane smile, as she stands and shivers by the doorway. The rainwater is still dripping from her soaked dress and cloak, and Ryuhwan pulls out a chair from the writing table, motioning for her to sit, before scrounging around in the bathroom. Moments later, he manages to return with a towel - light and almost thread-bare, but it's a cover of sorts.

"Thank you," Edea says, as she starts drying off her own hair.

A quick glance to the clock on the wall of the room in the inn reads two-fourty-eight in the morning; complete darkness, set to the dotted raindrops that pitter-patter from the crying, bleeding skies. Ryuhwan opens the creaky closet doors, manages to find another two towels and a somewhat-thicker blanket. With jerky movements, he hands the dry pile to her. She reaches out to take the bundle and her wet fingertips brush his warm, dry ones.

She is the one to flinch - albeit momentarily. And then she smiles - weakly, again - and takes the offering. He sits back down on the bed, lacing his fingers.

"You've grown," she whispers, wrapping one towel around her neck and proceeding to pat dry - as well as possible - the rest of her dress.

Ryuhwan - unable to find a response to such a statement - gets up from his place, to take off her cape and hang it right above the curtains for the shower in the bathroom. Edea murmurs her thanks - again - as he sits back down. They sit in silence, like that, for a while. Her eyes trace his face, his arms and legs, taking in the changes the years have given. He cannot find it in himself to make eye-contact, so he settles his gaze on some point in the room, blinking and re-averting his eyes intermittently.

"Why did you - " he starts out.

"I knew - I saw - Merlin said - that it was written," her voice catches, and he looks away, because it isn't the right answer.

"Tell me that you didn't have a choice," he begs - because he wants to believe - wants to keep faith and hope and want and _feeling_.

"I did," she says instead - wearing that sad smile once more.

"Why him? Why couldn't you - "

"He lost his sister," she replies - forlorn and honest and still _sad_ , "But he still had a chance to get her back." She does not say: 'I thought you would know how it feels like to lose a family member.'

"I really thought," he hoarsely says - barely manages to choke out, "for two years - that I had killed you."

"I'm sorry," she says again. The wet garments cling to her skin, and she's still shivering, despite the blanket that's wrapped around her body. The droplets of rain that are still dangling from her hair fall to floor, making a distinctly _empty_ sound. Ryuhwan looks to the clock on the wall; three-twelve.

"I missed you," he says. He does not say: 'so much, so much, so much, _so much_.' Instead he says, "Why did you come here?" And he means: "Why did you come back at all?"

The rain continues to fall.

"Ryuhwan," she says again - tries to make him understand, needs him to know - somehow, like this - ? "Ryuhwan, you wouldn't understand."

"It's been four years," he says - as the clock is three-fifteen, "Four years, five months, sixteen days, and twelve hours." A pause, and then he wryly adds, "I could probably tell you the minutes too, if you really wanted to know."

And Edea - trembling fingers and frame and half-bundled in towels - gets up and walks over. Ryuhwan is shaking as well - though that might be be from her point of view - when she takes his face and leans in and presses, with a touch so soft it could almost be a dream, her lips to his.

"I'm sorry," she whispers for the fourth time, as he sits - stone-cold - for a moment.

"You have..." he mutters, as his mind is flooded with senses once again - and his cheeks redden just a little, and he haphazardly runs a hand through now-sweaty locks, "You have _no idea_ how long I've wanted this." She can barely hear his voice, but his hand is reaching out to her - trembling in uncertainty, wondering desperately if thisis just another hopeless dream - and she threads their fingers together.

Like a dying man - and with a desperate moan - he pulls her close, inhaling her scent (rainwater and lilacs; something of the sort - something uniquely _hers_ ), and murmuring her name - repeatedly - between shallow, flighty breaths. And she lets him. Lets him lead - shaking and trembling, loose, quick breaths and unsteady movements - because it's been _four years_ and he is her first student and -

"Edea," he breaths - drinking everything in, like water - like _air_.

She shivers when he slides a hand across her thighs, bunching up the wet, silken fabric to gingerly tug it over her hair. She kisses his forehead and cheek, and her own breaths are becoming labored and slow, as his fingers skid and skim across her wet and naked body. She concentrates, and then closes her eyes, for the lights to go off - and he shows no sign of surprise; pulling both bedsheet and comforter over the two of them.

The heat from his skin is pooling into her own - the rain beats a rat-a-tat-tat outside.

"I missed you so much," he confesses, as he buries his head in the crook of her neck and she strokes his hair and lets him arch his back - to properly remove his pants and shirt. "So, so, so much," he mumbles out, fumbling underneath - he's hard, she notes, and she's wet; inside and out.

"Ryuhwan - I - " she tries to get out, and she catches the sliver of the moon - ducking behind curtains and clouds - and the clock: illuminated. Three-thirty-one, and the rain is not going away. He is - he is, was, was going to be her _only_ student; her beloved, special, sweet student. She taught him everything she had learnt; everything that she had created - and sent him out in the world, in an attempt to set him 'free'.

(Selfishly - she is glad that he is still her's; that he has _missed_ her.)

He pushes in - slow, slow, slow; he hisses out her name - with the same amount of devotion and fervency as before, and she swears she can hear a clap of thunder outside.

And then it doesn't matter because her arms - they know what to do - wrap around his neck, and he's curving into her, arching out, again and again. She comes with a shudder; sitcky with sweat and rain, whispering his name into his ear - for him only to hear. His face is wet with tears and pressed tight and close against her own, and he chants her name like a mantra - slow, slow, slow, controlled as she's always remembered him, even in this sort of situation.

Evidently, he finishes as well, pulling out of her and rolling off.

"I missed you," he mutters again, though it might just be the sleep talking, as he clasps their hands together once more.

"It's..." and she thinks of the ghosts and the years and the problems and the new world - the one so many people died to create (and - not her, not him). And she closes her eyes and thinks of tomorrow for the first time in _years_. "It's good to be back."


End file.
